A/N: For this chapter, if you are a girl, I would like you to imagine that you are a guy, and vice versa. I just think it will add a certain dimension (for lack of better word) to the story. Of course, you are always free to do as you please.
-: : /\ L - O T R Ī : :-
When a mysterious ship enamating dangerous amounts of quintessence penetrates New Altea's atmosphere and hurtles towards the ground, the Altean people are shaken. You watch the ship shoot a black line across the sky directly overhead like a bad omen. Distantly, in the expanse of the palace fields, the spacecraft hits the surface of the planet. The force is so great that you feel a slight tremor traveling up through the ground to your knees. A incandescent starlight pulsates from the crash site, washing the land around it in an almost ethereal brightness.
You share looks with those around you and exchange comments of relief that the crash had not occured in the city where you are. You're a proud jewelry vendor here in Sucili, the capital of New Altea, and it would not bode well for you if all of your work was destroyed. The others share your sentiments of course, a good number of them with families.
Despite immense Altean adaptability, the matter does not fade away. You talk with your neighbor and see what she knows, if she knows anything at all, and before you know it, almost twenty vendors are gathered in your friend's shop discussing what has happened. You are not an overly susperstitious people by any stretch of the imagination with a history deeply rooted in science, but you cannot deny the mysterious sensation looming over you all. The matter takes hold of the entire city. You turn on the spectator screen and find that the happenstance is already broadcasted to the entire world kingdom.
". . . just off the border of Altea's capital, Sucili. The royal guard have already been sent to investigate. . ."
Unlike the rest of Altea's central providences, the capital consists of a medium-sized marketplace, limited residence, and a lot of open land. The idea when rebuilding was to make the capital an extension of the castle grounds. In a sense, everyone in Sucili lives in the Queen's space. It is considered the most peaceful place in all of Altea.
So it's a bit odd for you to see it on the screen from an aerial view, a black and violet hole punched in it's upper right corner, a strange buzz coming from the reporter, through the screen, and to you. You and the others around you grow worried at the sight of the wreckage, still smoldering. Your brows furrow in slight unease as the visual on the screen changes to one on the ground, closer to the wreckage. You see movement around the ship's hull before the view is suddenly obstructed by the deep frown of a royal guard.
He tells the reporter something the microphone has trouble picking up and then the screen switches back to the news lobbyroom, the anchor explaining what happened.
This troubles you. Murmurs erupt within your friend's shop and surround you. Eventually, your curiosity gets the best of you, and you leave the store to hurry down the streets. A mass of people have already begun their own journeys, likely going to the Queen's reception garden for her comfort or going to the crash site like you. You are more motivated and race around your companions to make it.
Your end of the marketplace has always been nearest to the castle so it doesn't take long for you to cross its inner fields and reach the northeastern grounds. From the main courtyard, closer to the castle doors, you can see in passing a line of people who have come from all over Altea to bless the Queen or bring a grievance to her. You see guards escorting someone out and not allowing any others in. You wonder if this is in response to recent events or if her majesty is simply leaving the other visits for tomorrow and retiring without word of the commotion. Perhaps it's both, a coincidence.
And then you hear a name, a sacred word, from someone somewhere deep in the crowds, and your heart leaps into your mouth and your feet are moving even faster and you're hastily wishing Queen Allura the best as you pass by the castle because now you need to see. You need to see if it's true.
Lotor. . .
Abruptly, you stop. There's a wall of people in your way and not one seems to be moving anytime soon. Luckily, you're a bit tall and manage to peek over the shoulders of your peers. You see a canal formed in the center of the crowd, one that's long and stretches all the way from the castle, to where you stand, to the wreckage. The murmurs get louder and soon you hear His name everywhere.
"Lotor. . ."
"Lotor is. . ?"
". . . Lotor has returned. . ."
". . . Lotor,"
All around, it's all you can hear. You feel the late afternoon breeze pick up your tied-up hair, soft and sweet, and in a momentous tick of silence, you catch a juniperry flower petal with your cheek. It's small, seemingly insignificant. But to you, it means something. A good omen. A sign of something precious.
You reach up to take the delicate petal between your fingertips, then gently weave it into your hair-- for good luck. And as the sun settles on your brow, the smell of juniperries in your nose, you hear a great sound from the end of the crowd. You turn your head, eager to see what there is to be seen, peeking over the shoulders of your equally energized brethren.
And there He is.
The buzz that swallows the masses in His presence is contagious and you welcome it. Because your Lord, your saviour, is there in the flesh, standing amongst you all. He has just endured a mighty crash that shook the ground, and still He stands tall and true. You find yourself in awe of His stride, of His grace. You find yourself impressed by His regality and gentle stoicism. And you find yourself suddenly desperate to be closer to Him, to feel His presence like your father and your mother did before He'd gone for so, so long.
Until now, you had only heard stories. Little tales about His looming figure, and mixed heritage, and careful hand, and bellowing voice. There were times in your youth where you heard about His great intelligence and capability, how He resolved disputes and solved problems that had plagued the colonies He'd built for centuries in mere dobashes. And from what you heard, He was never able to stay in His colonies long; He came and went just long enough, hardly often enough, for the Alteans to remember who to thank for their survival. You had thought He was a legend.
You remember the light and the love your parents would exude when they spoke of His kindness and sacrifice. You remember them telling you that one day, He was sure to return. One day, when the universe was peaceful again and He no longer had to hide you away, He would bring Altea into a new age of prosperity and proudly present a new Altea to a universe deprived of it for ten thousand years.
And He would be here to stay.
You dare to take your eyes off of His image to look at some of the people around you. Dotted within the crowd, male and female alike have traces of tears on their faces, unshed tears in their eyes. Smiles of disbelief are shared with one another. Parents raise their children onto their shoulders and everyone begins clambering to get to the front.
At this point, the guards are no longer escorting Lotor, they're fighting to keep the masses at bay.
Whispers of His name turn into hymns of worship. The sound of it is almost eerie to you. If the day were not so bright and He were not so noble, it would seem as if a curse had befallen all of Sucili's people. You find yourself joining them, a hope and a levity forming in your heart that makes the words come easy. You utter them with all that you are.
"He is here, He is here, He is here. . !"
Different voices. Different tones. Different volumes. Different ages. All uttering the same thing, all in on the same feeling.
A guard pushes against the people in front of you and you realize that you've been paying too much attention to the people around. Your eyes snap towards the guard just in time to see Him walk past, His gait steady and His stride long. The wind picks up His hair softly as the people raise their hands towards Him, daring to touch Him, eager to place sweet flowers on His shoulders. The image is just short of ethereal. Perhaps if His clothes were not damaged from the wreck, it would be.
In the end, none of it matters.
You're a bit overwhelmed. His name is heavy on your tongue, but you can't utter it; you yearn to lay your hand upon His imposing form, to gift Him a juniperry from the fields in reverence, but your arms are lead; you're frozen with astonishment. You can only watch between heads and over shoulders as His greatness passes you by. You watch His towering form until He disappears in the distance and the masses converge, following behind.
The entire town of Sucili follows at His heels, as close as they can get.
Except you. You stay stuck in place, watching Altea's prized juniperry flowers with regretful, wishful, unseeing eyes-- regretful of passing up the opportunity, wishing you could have it back, unable to look beyond the glorious trail that He has left. The flora sway gently in the early breeze. You think of how much they remind you of His hair.
-: : /\ L - O T R Ī : :-
Queen Allura is young, but that is part of why she is revered; she has been through so much in such little time. She has not only witnessed first-hand the fall of Altea, but she has also perservered to fight in the war for peace, emerge triumphant, and pick up where Lotor had left off in His rebuilding of Altea. And her ties to the decaphoebs before even Lotor's birth make her the only Altean alive who fully understands the alchemy lost to time.
Many revere her as something of a Goddess in her own right, so the sight of her Majesty beside His greatness is a comforting one indeed. It tells of an oncoming of age of flourish and fortune. You certainly believe so.
The two of them are unendingly kind and giving. It's the first quintant of their parade across New Altea in celebration of Lotor's arrival, but it's not just a parade; Queen Allura and Lotor have made it clear that they intend to give back to the people, invent a new custom of giving and care. You watch the parade from where you stand in the venue in Sucili, Flugen Ba, amongst your brethren.
You hear talk around you, talk with your spouse and your child that's old enough to speak. You're all excited about the dubbing of this once regular quintant as a new holiday. Your spouse holds your infant child in their arms while you raise your four-decaphoeb old onto your shoulders to see the parade. Above you, your four-decaphoeb old holds the gift you have for your leaders in their little hands.
Your smiles are bright as you exchange excited looks, brimming with hope. The Queen and Lotor have made it known that they can only accept so many gifts directly, and that they desired for the Alteans to gift amongst themselves as well. Only the lucky will be able to hand their treasure over to the Queen's or Lotor's hands with their very own. You, like so many others, hope for that luck.
Flugen Ba is an open venue, the second most popular on all of Altea. There is hardly a building structure to it. Three tall walls stand perpendicular to each other on open emerald grassland, forming three fourths of a square and resembling an open box. The Queen's banners hang from these walls in huge iterations of the original coat of arms.
It's custom to wear the monarch's colors when their banner is present at any significant gathering, so the crowd is full of magentas and delicate pinks and white and gold. Silver has recently been added to the list of colors despite it not having a place on the Queen's coat; in honor of Lotor, it has become a permanent formal and respectful color to be worn.
Beneath your feet is nothing but grass, cut short within the area of the three enormous walls that make up the structure of the venue. The streets of the city go around Flugen Ba to avoid dissecting its inner space, though there is a soft and wide trail that leads to it. The Queen and Lotor come to you all from this trail, guards on hovercycles escorting them and making a path for them within the crowd in Flugen Ba's space. The Altean people erupt with cheers as soon as they catch sight of their leaders.
As they approach the center of the venue, you swear that His gaze falls on you, and He smiles at you. Naturally, your own smile brightens and grows ever wider. You wave to Him, knowing He will hardly notice you with so many people around, and He waves back with grace, addressing the populace as a whole, though you wish that He would recognize you as an individual-- like so many others, no doubt. At the thought, you feel the juniperry petal still woven into your hair since that first day you saw Him and have hope that it may really happen someday.
Quiet greetings are made by both leaders as they grow nearer to their destination. Each of them has their attention on the people of Sucili respectfully, though for a short tick, you think that you might see the Queen glancing Lotor's way somewhat amorously while He isn't paying attention. The emotion is clear to you, what with you having your own love.
How curious.
It hasn't been long since Lotor's arrival, a phoeb or two at best, but whispers among the Alteans in Sucili have emerged regarding His relationship with Queen Allura, and you've learned that you're not the only one thinking about it. That their union might be on the horizon. Some think it's only natural, others think it far-fetched. Most, however, believe it to be unsavory despite Altean value of love and good feelings. You agree with the latter despite your spouse's favor for the former; the binding of religion to state does not sit well with you. Regardless of opinions, however, you know that most will respect any matrimony between the two if it comes. None will be under the impression that their decision is unwise, still beholden to and reverent of them both.
Queen Allura gestures for silence once she and Lotor have successfully made it to the center of Flugen Ba's field. Silence comes at her behest.
"Before we begin our exchanges," she begins, as perfectly regal as her banners suggest, "I would like to first make on official statement regarding Lotor's status here with us,"
A slight pause, some open anticipation. While you know that the Queen would not needlessly stretch the silence on, it feels like an eternity before a large grins breaks her face of elegance to replace it with a warm radiance, before she finally confirms the hopes of her people.
"He is here to stay,"
There are cheers.
It surprises even you, how loud they are. It takes actual moments for her Majesty to gain control of the crowd again. You listen eagerly to what she has to say, your child's delicate weight comforting on your shoulders.
"Today we celebrate his return to us and the strengthening of a new era. From here onward, this quintant will be known as Ruigtant, and every decaphoeb on this quintant we will exchange gifts with those we wish to bless or forgive. This parade will not be annual, but this custom of giving will make up for that. This being said, this quintant is not for speeches. We will move forward with the exchanges; let it be known what your gift is for."
The masses move all at once, turning towards each other and lurching forward simultaneously. You meet gazes with your spouse and, with a gentle smile, bid them goodbye for a short while while you take your eldest child with you to bestow a blessing upon your god. The thought amuses you, knowing it normally to happen the other way around. It pleases you too, for the same reason.
You get make it to the center, where you can see Him towering above everyone and receiving a few gifts from others on the opposite side of Flugen Ba. This means you that don't get to give your gift to Lotor directly like you wanted, that your child must hand the light silver box into a guard's hands instead. But that's okay.
The guard accepts your blessing, swears with a silent smile to give it to Him, and it is enough for you to know that He will receive it.
"Come, bebi," you tell your child on your shoulders once the gift has been given, looking up to see their round face peering down at you, small hands holding your head now, "let's find your friends. Who knows, you might even get a git!"
Your child grins wide with an eager giggle, developing words of approval mixing with your mirth as you navigate the masses to first find your spouse.
-: : /\ L - O T R Ī : :-
It's a calm afternoon in your jewelery shop. Solar light spills in through your windows, tinting everything peach. You're busy polishing a circlet you've just made for a client coming in to pick it up the quintant after this. Lost in your tedious ministrations, you lose awareness of some things around you.
"I was told that you are the one to thank for this gift,"
Someone's come in without you noticing. At the sound of the voice, you set aside your polish and cloth and take a brief moment to admire your work, then lift your head to see who has visited you. Your heart skips a beat as you see Lotor standing in the doorway of your shop, a halo of Fari's mid-quintant light shining around Him.
He comes closer, stops at your front desk, and you see that He is pointing to a broad-banded golden necklace on His neck that has a precious spriggan stone in it. You blink with a start.
"Oh--!" you nod nervously, bowing your head and averting your eyes from His out of respect. Your hands clutch the gold circlet you were just polishing. "Oh, yes. Yes, I made it."
"You have exemplary craftsmanship."
"Thank you, my Lord. I--" you falter because of your nerves, and you have to close your eyes to force yourself to calm down, "I am honored."
"No,"
Your heart plummets into your stomach. Before you can apologize and ask what needs to be changed, what He requires of you so that the necklace might be satisfactory, you feel a gentle touch on your shoulder. Your gaze catches sight of it from the corners of your eyes, and you can instantly feel your eyes widen at the lilac color.
But you can't react to His touch, He's leaning down to find your eyes, to capture your gaze with His. Once He has you, you can't get away.
"I am honored," He says, great voice thrumming through you, cobalt eyes searching yours, "to be worthy of your gratitude. Thank you for this gift."
You nod, because that's all you can do. Lotor returns to His full height and you return to yours, your gaze still glued to His in awe. Though your height does not compare, you feel as if you are standing together, on the same level. His charm has a way of doing that. His warm gaze and gentle hand (just like in the stories, you can't help but marvel) make you feel worthy of standing by His side.
His smile is so soft and kind, and you can tell that He really cares about you.
"What is your name?" He asks.
Your name?
"My name?" you ask.
He chuckles lightly, amused by you. He nods once. "Yes."
Embarrassingly, you are a little slow on the uptake, still entranced by His eyes. You blink and snap yourself out of your stupor. "Yes-- yes, my name. I'm from a lower class family in the eastern provinces, so I only have one,"
You tell Him your name, and He listens intently. As He nods with a bit of a faraway look, you dare to think that Lotor is making a genuine effort to remember you. Regular, middle-class you. The thought makes your heart leap with joy.
"A wonderful name-- even if only just one," He jests, and before you know it, you're smiling. He seems pleased by that. "It has been a great pleasure meeting you."
You nod in agreement, knuckles aching as your hands stay firmly clenched into fists at your middle, the circlet in your grasp. You've been so nervous this entire time, but only now do you realize how tense you've been; you relax your hands some, make their hold on your golden circlet not so tight. And just as well.
He holds His great hand out for you to take.
You take it graciously, reverently, and His smile grows.
"Take care." He says.
"And you as well, my Lord,"
You watch as he turns around to leave your shop. You think about how graceful and long His strides are as he goes, how His body fills the entire frame of your door. When His greatness finally steps outside, you swear that you see a trail of juniperries following him, but it fades away when the door is shut, as if the wind is blowing the souls of lost juniperries to Hava for the passed to enjoy.
For many dobashes after Lotor has gone, you can't stop thinking about the gentleness of His touch and the kindness in His smile. How much He obviously cares for you even though the two of you had never met before then. You find yourself staring listlessly at the entrance to your shop, wondering if He will visit you again soon, or at all. You hope so. You want to give Him another necklace, to have another conversation. You want to see His smile again.
You look down at your hands, at the circlet in your fingers. While you consider making Lotor another, one much greater, you notice a hint of movement in the corner of your eye. Small. Delicate. Halting.
You look down at your counter to see what it is.
A juniperry petal. It must have come in when Lotor did.
You smile and tuck it into your hair, confident that you will see Lotor again.